CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Retro Girl

"Well, this was a first," Xander announced triumphantly as the office door swung closed behind Angel. "I can count the number of times I've beaten you to work on approximately one finger." He held up his index finger and wiggled it back and forth. "And that would be today."

Angel hung his coat on a rack near the door and immediately headed towards the coffee machine. "Buffy wanted to talk half the night, so I didn't get much sleep. He gestured with his thumb towards the parking lot. "Who's the asshole in the busted-up RV that's occupying both of the delivery spots?"

"Don't know," Xander said as he leaned against the door frame and sipped at a steaming mug. "What did Buffy want to talk about?"

"Spike," Angel admitted as he poured his own mug of coffee. Once full, he set the pot back down, closed his eyes and savored first the smell and then the bitingly bitter taste. For tastebuds that had been half dead to the world for centuries, the raw, bracing brew was almost overwhelmingly flavorful.

"Spike?" Xander asked. "What the hell does she want to talk about him for?"

"She thinks Buffy, the other Buffy, deserves to know all about their sordid history." As he was not yet ready to face the stacks of old files in his office, Angel brushed past Xander and sat down behind the lobby desk. He needed a few minutes before he could face the miserable reality that he was going to spend yet another day failing to catch a serial killer.

Xander sat on the couch and stared at him. "I hope Buffy doesn't mean all of it, all of it. Does she? There's some things that happened with Spike that maybe are best left buried deep … and I mean way deep … and maybe we should throw away the shovel before we dig them back up and talk about them." He gestured with his mug towards Angel. "That includes you."

Angel held up a hand by way of warning. "If Buffy hasn't told me, I don't want to hear about it. What I know is bad enough already, and since she's hinting about things Spike did before he got his soul back, what I don't know is probably pretty bad. The real question is 'how much should teen Buffy know?'"

"Oh," Xander said as he contemplated Angel's comment. "If it happened before Spike leveled up, soul-wise, does it really matter?"

Angel put down the mug and stared in puzzlement at Xander. "Buffy said something similar. Why do you think it doesn't matter?"

Xander shrugged. "Got his soul back, became a new person, right?" He made a brushing off motion with his hands. "Slate is wiped clean, except for the memories … and the guilt. I know I wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer back in high school, but I got it eventually. You and Angelus aren't the same person."

Angel picked up his mug and took another sip. "That's true, but it isn't quite that simple. In any case, Buffy thinks Spike has been less than forthcoming, and if he's going to stay in Moonridge, she doesn't want there should be any secrets."

"Well, it's her call."

As the coffee slowly cleared the cobwebs from Angel's brain, he realized that the office had apparently undergone a major redecorating that morning. He blinked a few times in surprise, then turned an accusing eye on Xander.

"Xander, where are the maps?"

"They're in my truck," Xander explained. "Faith and the slayers wanted to take a look, and Emmy had invited them all over for a brunch this Sunday, so I figured I'd take them over to my place. Don't worry," he held up his hands in a mollifying gesture, "I'll keep your stickies and your pins, and your obsessive notes just as you left them."

"I had the maps set up in a particular way," Angel complained. "They were all lined up perfectly so you could see the entire city. You know how long it'll take me to redo?"

"Maybe five minutes? They're maps, not the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel."

"Why couldn't the slayers come here?"

The query seemed to stump Xander. "You know what, that's a good question. Maybe I should have suggested that."

My maps!

"Fine," Angel said dismissively. "Not like I was getting anywhere with the charts, anyway. Eventually, when vamp and demon attacks are literally everywhere, trying to find a pattern becomes a bit pointless."

Xander rubbed his hands together. "Now that you've got cartography out of your system, how about we catch that serial killer? Your old Angel Investigations files are a dead-end and your ex appears to be just as stumped as we are … where to next?"

"Please don't refer to her as my ex."

"Fine, Detective Lockley," Xander corrected himself. "In any event, what now?"

"I don't know," Angel said with a far harsher inflection than he intended. "Maybe I need a fresh perspective. What do you think?"

"Moi?" Xander said in a voice dripping with sarcasm as he pointed at himself. "The vaunted Angel, beloved champion of the night, would like my opinion?"

"I'm quickly regretting that I asked."

Xander cleared his throat dramatically. "We've got a picture of the killer, and it's the same purple skinned demon that attacked Kate, right?"

"Right."

Xander nodded. "So, we know it's not a team. It's one guy."

"Yes, Xander, serial killers usually don't work in teams."

Xander raised a finger, "Serial killers may not, but demons, in my not-so-limited experience, usually do. Also, consider this, Kate managed to escape from her attacker, so he has to be weak, from a demon perspective, you with me so far?"

"Kate's tougher than she looks, but yeah, he must be."

"Finally, and hear me out, Angel, you've always been sure, at least until recently, that the killer was human. True?"

"Correct again," Angel said. "Though I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"What I'm thinking, Angel, is that you and your ex have fallen into that most classic of investigative traps, one that has snared even the most brilliant of minds."

"And what trap is that?"

Xander walked over to the lobby desk, leaned over, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Angel, you've saved the world umpteen times now, and maybe it's skewed your perspective. What if this killer isn't some deep dark menace that threatens our entire plane of existence, or an ancient evil resurrected to haunt your waking dreams?"

"Okay, so what if he isn't?" Angel asked. "How does that help us figure out who he is?"

"If you were a normal cop investigating this, instead of an ex-vampire who deals with undead monsters all the time, what would be your first instinct?"

I'm officially regretting asking Xander for his opinion.

"My instincts right now are telling me to get another cup of coffee." Angel grabbed his mug and stood up.

Xander returned to the couch, leaned back, and put his feet on the coffee table. "Aren't you interested in hearing my big reveal?"

Angel paused halfway to the coffee. "This had better be good."

"Maybe the killer goes around stealing computer files instead of casting a spell, and maybe, just maybe, Kate was able to escape, because your instincts were right all along, and this isn't a demon. A regular detective assigned this case wouldn't think it's some supernatural monster, he'd think it's just some psychotic kid wearing a Halloween mask." Xander triumphantly placed his hands behind his head and smiled. "That's the kind of suspect we should be looking for."

Angel tilted his head back, sighed, and turned back towards the coffee machine. "Xander, next time I'm tempted to ask for your input remind me to …"

He froze mid-stride, his mouth hanging open in shock, as Xander's words reverberated in his skull.

he'd think it's just some psychotic kid wearing a Halloween mask …

"Hey Angel, you okay?" Xander called out after noticing Angel was frozen in place, and that his face had gone chalky white. "We're just brainstorming here, so I thought I'd throw out a new possibility."

"Xander, you're absolutely, right," Angel announced. "I cannot believe I didn't see this before."

Xander blinked a few times in surprise. "I am? I think this is the part of the cliché where I'm supposed to say 'of course I am,' but in actuality, I'm as surprised as you!"

"I know exactly who the serial killer is," Angel said as the mug he was holding slipped from his hand. He felt strangely unconcerned as coffee splashed across the rug. Dimly, through vision that had grown blurred, he watched Xander slump forward and fall from the couch.

What is happening?

As he fell to his knees, Angel realized that a strange, acrid odor had filled the office and that a low, barely audible hissing noise emanated from someplace behind him. He collapsed on his side, twisted towards the sound, and spotted a pale mist spraying from the ceiling. He feebly raised his arm for a moment, but the weight of keeping his hand aloft was too much to bear. He lost consciousness long before the lobby door swung open, and a hooded figure stepped inside.

. . . . . . . . .

Giles peered over the newspaper at the pajama clad Buffy who had at last arrived, yawning and bleary-eyed, at the entryway to the kitchen. On the table between them was an assortment of scones and croissants, a hot pot of tea, and several sliced grapefruits. Buffy poured herself a glass of milk, disconsolately grabbed a chocolate-filled croissant, and plopped herself into a seat. She nibbled with an evident lack of appetite while Giles thoughtfully appraised her.

"What?" she finally asked.

"I realize that last night's patrol ran rather late, or early, I suppose, but do you know what time it is?"

"Not really."

Giles glanced at his watch. "It's nearly four o'clock."

"I didn't feel like getting up." She half-heartedly took another bite of the croissant.

Giles ensured his face displayed no emotion before he replied, "Boy problems?"

Buffy raised her arm to fling the pastry at him, but Giles merely raised the newspaper to block her view of his face. Torn between punishing his nonchalance towards her misery and eating more chocolate, she eventually lowered her hand and resumed nibbling.

"That isn't funny," she said.

"It's a little funny," Giles replied as he turned the page. "I know that everything feels very new and very unique when you're a teenager, but believe me, I've seen it all." His eyes stared sightlessly into the distance for a moment. "Too much, actually."

"Seen it all, huh? How about this one: Spike left town because my clone, who's over twice my age, threatened to tell me about how horrible their relationship, in another universe than the one I come from, was. Have you heard that one before?"

Giles stared at her in concern, then folded the paper and placed it on the table.

He isn't surprised.

"You knew!" she gasped. "You knew what she was planning, and you didn't say anything? Giles, how could you?"

Giles put his hands on the table and maintained a carefully neutral expression as he searched for the right words.

"Well!" Buffy protested. "Say something! Spike's left, again, and he and I never really had a chance to … to …" she could feel her face turning red as she spluttered for a few moments.

"I rather thought Spike might leave," Giles said in a grave, serious tone. "Buffy, there are things about him you don't know, and maybe you should."

"He's been helping patrol for months now, if he couldn't be trusted around me, why would you let him do that? He's saved my life, Giles, more than once."

Giles pursed his lips, removed his glasses, and set them on the table. "I'm not saying that Spike can't be trusted, or that he's even the same man … or being … or whatever … that he was before, all I'm saying is that you are eighteen years old, and Spike has a history with Buffy. Surely you can imagine why we all might be concerned."

"You know what, I can't talk about this anymore," Buffy announced as she stood up.

"Thank heavens," Giles mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Not terribly sure of her next destination, Buffy headed towards the front door. Before she reached it, Olivia called out from the stairs.

"There you are, I've been waiting all day for you to wake up." She smiled down at her.

I can't take any of this out on Olivia. She's been nothing except nice to me.

"I was just about to head towards town, actually," Buffy said with as much good-natured cheer as she could muster.

Olivia shook her head. "Not until I show you something. Come on up."

Please tell me this isn't about the dance. I don't even have a costume.

"Olivia, I know you mean well, but I'm really not up to socializing with a bunch of high-schoolers who hate me."

She felt a pang of regret when Olivia's smile fluttered and vanished in response to her lack of interest.

The least I can do is look.

"You know what, sure," she called out as she headed towards the stairs.

Olivia's enthusiastic smile returned as she beckoned Buffy towards one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Doggedly, with a decided lack of enthusiasm, Buffy trudged behind.

. . . . . . . . .

"You've got to be kidding me," Buffy said as she stared in slack-jawed horror at the outfit hanging from the shower rod.

"This is Option A," Olivia informed her.

She heard Giles's footsteps as he approached, put both hands on her shoulders, and whispered softly in her ear. "I think it would be rather striking on you, Buffy."

When she realized that she was once again rubbing at the scar slashing across the right side of her mouth, she quickly lowered her hand.

Well, at least it's appropriate for the theme.

The shoulder and midriff baring cotton top was pink, and the felt of the poodle skirt hanging below was a deep black. Thankfully, no applique of a hot rod, or flamingo, or anything else, decorated the fabric. The saddle shoes neatly set on the floor of the closet were black and white, and somehow Buffy knew at a glance they were exactly her size. Given how … fluffy … the skirt looked while merely hanging in place, she imagined the petticoats had to be at least six or seven inches thick. A black scarf made of the same material as the skirt was neatly wrapped around the hanger.

"Couldn't you have found one with enough fabric to cover her stomach?" Giles asked.

"Rupert!" Olivia scolded him. "You have eyes, it's what's in style. Besides, it's summer."

Giles cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses.

"What do you think?" Olivia asked the still shell-shocked Buffy.

"It's … beautiful," she replied slowly as she searched for the right words. "I'm just not sure it's me."

Oddly enough, Olivia's smile only widened. "I thought you might say that." She grabbed another wardrobe selection and hung it next to the first. ""So, Giles and I made sure there was an option B that might be more your style."

The black leather jacket had a high collar, thick silver zippers, and a number of pockets on the sides. Both the white cotton shirt and black jeans seemed to be fitted to about her size, and of course, she spotted a pair of black converse sneakers tucked away in the corner.

In spite of her lack of enthusiasm for the entire affair, she grinned as she reached out and felt the supple leather. She began to wonder what Spike would think of it, then immediately squelched the thought with a hot surge of anger.

"What do you say, Buffy?" Olivia asked. "Giles and I have to go anyway, you need to get out of the house on something other than a patrol, and who knows … you might even have some fun?"

"Maybe consider it a security assignment?" Giles suggested. "Keep an eye on a public gathering, that sort of thing."

Olivia and Buffy both turned to him and frowned.

"Or not …" he said sheepishly.

"You can stay as long or as short as you like," Olivia promised.

Buffy played with the zipper on the jacket as she replied, "I barely feel like I know anyone. I went to class, I did my homework, I graduated, I read through a trillion dusty journals, I patrolled, I patrolled some more … I was a ghost to them. A scary ghost, maybe."

Olivia put her arm around Buffy's shoulder and pulled her close. "I know you had a rough time of it for a few months, but you're in a better place now. Cut loose and give this a shot."

"You know what, what the hell," Buffy said. "I'll go."

Olivia clapped her hands and squealed in glee. Despite the gray streaking her hair, Buffy was reminded of a small child receiving a holiday present.

"Which outfit will it be?" Olivia asked.

Buffy moved to grab the leather jacket, but then hesitated as she stared at the poodle skirt. An unexpected, and unwanted, temptation washed over her for a moment. The felt looked beautiful, and she could imagine herself rustling and swirling as she glided on the dance floor …

Maybe in another life.

She shook off the sensation and grabbed the leather jacket.

"Should I try anything on?" she asked.

Giles patted her on the shoulder and headed towards the door. "It'll all fit," he called out.

"Thank you," she whispered to Olivia.

"My pleasure, Buffy," Olivia whispered back.

"What time are we leaving?"

Olivia considered for a moment. "The dance starts at eight, so probably around seven? I hope you don't mind watching us set up for a bit."

Buffy shook her head. "Don't mind at all. I haven't got any other plans."

. . . . . . . . .

The sun had just begun to dip behind the canyon rim when Giles pulled his Jaguar into the Moonridge High School parking lot. Behind a chain link lay basketball courts and a football field feebly holding onto a few patches of green amongst the dead grass. The school, in-between the myriad polished windows, was white with blue trim, and the entrance to the gymnasium was garishly decorated with countless nostalgic references to the 1950s. A smile crept over Buffy's face when she noticed that the ticket table had been decorated to resemble the front end of a classic Chevy.

Why am I more nervous going to a high school dance than facing down a nest of vampires?

Buffy pulled the leather jacket close as she opened the door and stepped outside. The heat of the day lingered above the asphalt, suddenly making her wish she'd opted for the significantly more summer-friendly poodle skirt and midriff baring top.

She caught Giles's nervousness before he'd even finished putting his away his phone and closing the car door.

Whatever message Giles just got, I bet the dance is cancelled for me.

"What happened?" she asked with a mixture of relief and … disappointment? "Where do I need to be?"

"Oh, it isn't that," Giles replied as Olivia stepped out and joined them. "It's just …"

"Just what?" Buffy pressed. "Spill it."

"Well, Buffy is on her way …"

A red film flashed for a moment in front of her eyes. "How convenient, I don't have to look for her." She resisted the urge to crack her knuckles.

"Is there something I'm missing here?" Olivia asked.

"Did you know?" she asked Giles. "Did you know she'd be here?"

Giles shook his head.

"Guys, what's going on?" Olivia pressed.

"Nothing," Buffy said as she began striding towards the gym. "I just need to clear the air with someone, that's all."

She tried to ignore the sounds of Giles murmuring to Olivia and increased her speed. When she reached the ticketing table, she found two of her fellow seniors holding down the fort until Giles and Olivia arrived. Hailey, a blonde classmate she could reasonably tolerate … at least she'd never heard her whispering ugly gossip when she thought she was out of earshot … and a florid-faced, heavyset young man that she loathed.

"How's it going, Jeff?" she asked insolently as she crossed her arms. "Did your wrist heal up okay?"

Maybe next time you'll keep your hands to yourself.

Jeff Carlson's face blanched as he recoiled in his metal folding chair. He began to rub at his right wrist, then immediately stopped when he realized what he was doing. "Buffy, I didn't know you were coming." With trembling fingers, he proceeded to flip through pages on a clipboard. "I didn't see your name on the ticket list."

"How nice of you to check for me," Buffy said in a saccharinely sweet tone. "But I'm their plus one." She gestured with her thumb towards Rupert and Olivia.

"She is indeed," Giles said with a smile. "I believe that free admission for family members was promised to the chaperones."

"Absolutely," Jeff spluttered.

"Here you go, Buffy," Hailey said cheerfully as she handed Buffy a large, glossy book.

"What's this?" Buffy asked as she glanced at the cover.

Hailey shot her a quizzical look. "A yearbook."

"Oh. Cool."

Never had one of these before.

Not seeing any point in prolonging the conversation, Buffy proceeded inside. Long Day-glo streamers colored in pink and black hung in large bunches from the rafters, vintage posters lined the walls, and a large checkerboard dance floor had been set up in the middle of the hall. Several students appeared to be in the midst of erecting large banks of colored lights, and Buffy imagined that once the dance started, they'd turn off the overheads and blind everyone with a whirlwind of colors. A long table on the far side of the room featured an assortment of cupcakes, appetizers, and several bowls of punch.

Spike would definitely try to spike the punch.

She felt like slapping herself for once again thinking of Spike.

Remembering the yearbook in her hand, she flipped to the index and searched for her name.

Only one entry … I guess I should have expected that.

She found the designated page and searched for the surly looking photograph she recalled being required to take in order to obtain a Student I.D. card. Her frowning, unhappy face, memorialized for eternity.

Wow, I'm glad I cut down on the eye shadow.

Then she noticed something else about the photo, and first a pang of anger, then a cold tendril of sadness, curled inside her gut. She searched the gym until she found what she was looking for, then she marched over to a nearby trash can and tossed the yearbook inside. Giles and Olivia looked understandably befuddled as they approached, but before she could explain, a slight, blonde figure wearing tight jeans, a black Lycra top, and a stiff, grim expression walked into the gym.

It's her.

"Buffy, what was that all about?" Olivia asked as she stared at the trash can.

"I'll explain later," Buffy promised, while internally vowing never to do so. "I see someone I need to chat with."

"Has anyone heard from Angel or Xander?" the other Buffy asked as she approached the group. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the teenage Buffy, but she recovered quickly. "Emmy and I have been trying to get a hold of them all afternoon … they were supposed to be our rides."

"Hey, Buffy Summers!" one of the students called out. Both Buffys turned to look, and the student looked somewhat confused for a moment, then he turned towards the older version. "You've got my vote!"

"Thanks!" Buffy called back. "I appreciate the support."

A murmur from one of the other students was audible across the gymnasium. "Dude, quit simpin,' she isn't going to sleep with you."

Buffy's grim expression intensified as several of the teenagers descended into guffaws of howling laughter.

"I can't say that I've seen either Angel or Xander," Giles replied, "but you know how it is with them. They get a lead, they scurry off, and do … whatever it is they do."

"I guess," Buffy said with an uncertain, uneasy look on her face.

Enough chit chat.

"Hey, you," Buffy said in an aggressively friendly tone as she extended one leather clad arm and forcefully fist-bumped her older self in the arm.

Buffy grimaced a bit at the surprisingly forceful push, then returned it with one of her own. "Hey, you, back." She glanced at Olivia and Giles. "I don't know how you guys pulled it off, but you got her here."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm not standing in front of you," Buffy said through gritted teeth. The hostility bottled up inside leaked into the words more than she intended.

A hush fell over the group as they stared at her in concern.

"Maybe we should talk," the older Buffy offered.

A vigorous nod was offered in reply. "Absolutely." She glanced over at Giles and Olivia. "Alone."

Giles opened his mouth to protest, but Olivia grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"We'll see you when you're done," Olivia said.

Neither Buffy replied.

The older Buffy began walking towards a door in the far wall of the gymnasium. When she reached it, she swung it open, navigated down the corridor beyond, then stopped when the two of them reached a large atrium surrounded by white-tiled hallways and row after row of bright blue lockers.

She still knows her way around.

Finally, Buffy turned around to look at the young woman who, in some ways was indistinguishable from the person she remembered being, and in others was completely unrecognizable.

"You want to talk about Spike," she said.
"You're goddamned right," was the reply.

. . . . . . . . .

"Sweetheart, do you really want to go rummaging through the trash?" Giles asked as he watched Olivia lean further into the garbage receptacle. He crinkled his nose in distaste at the thought of what her arm might be coming into contact with. "Do be sure to wash your hands when you're finished."

"Got it!" Olivia announced triumphantly as she stood and dusted a few clinging bits of debris off the yearbook that Buffy had discarded.

Despite his misgivings over Olivia's refuse reconnaissance, curiosity overcame him as he peered over her shoulder. "I wonder what could have upset her so much?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Olivia said as she flipped through the alphabetically ordered volume. When she reached the appropriate page, both she and Giles craned forward to get a better look. A wave of paternal anger immediately washed over him.

Those bastards. How unbelievably thoughtless of them.

Olivia fixed him with sad eyes for a moment, then she tossed the yearbook back in the trash. "I don't know if that's someone's idea of a sick joke, or if they thought it would actually be appreciated, but I'm going to find out who is charge of the yearbook committee and give them a piece of my mind." Olivia shook her head sadly. "Photoshopping a scar off a teenager's face? Why would a school do something like that?"

. . . . . . . . .

"I'm sure Spike would absolutely love the mental image of the two of us fighting about him," Buffy observed as she faced the flushed, visibly angry teenager standing in front of her. "I know you're upset, but I hope we can be rational about this."

"What, are you afraid I'm going to kick your ass?"

Buffy rubbed her forehead for a moment. "It's fitting that we're standing in a high school, cause right now that's the setting that feels appropriate."

"I told you to drop it," teen Buffy said as she pointed one black leather-clad arm at her. "Did I not specifically say yesterday morning that I'd make my own decisions about who I spent time with?" She stepped closer. "And now Spike's gone and given your oh-so-so concerned attitude about him, somehow I have a feeling you're the reason."

"Trust me, it's for your own good."

For a moment, she thought she was about to take a punch in the face, but thankfully the still-a-slayer version of Buffy took a deep breath and unclenched her fist.

"You have no idea what's good for me. Bad things happened to you, I get it, but it doesn't mean they will happen to me. Are you trying to warn me because you think it's best for me, or are you trying to offload your trauma? If you are, I don't want it. I have enough of my own."

"Spike would, eventually, just add to that trauma," Buffy said in as neutral, and grown-up a voice as she could. What she wanted to do was take the very emotional high schooler in front of her, shake her shoulders, and try to make her see reality. "You know Spike isn't here to help patrol, Buffy." It felt supremely weird to say her own name to another person. "He's interested in you. He wants you … in that way …"

"In that way?" was the scoffing reply. "I'm eighteen, not eight."

"Have you ever even had time for a boyfriend?" Buffy asked quietly. "Spike's been around the block … a few thousand times. This isn't right."

Buffy glanced away and took a long moment before replying. "You lecturing me about what's right, while you shack up with an ex-vampire every night, is rich. And yes, little miss mom, I did have a boyfriend. He died about six months before I volunteered for a one-way trip to this soap opera dimension where everyone has a convoluted romantic history, and nobody ever stays dead."

"I didn't know that."

"You didn't know because you barely talked to me!" Buffy screamed at her older self. "It's the last day in July, and now you want to have a heart to heart and give me some tips on who I should spend time with? Where have you been?"

"You had my journals, and I was here if you had questions. I thought you needed space."

The derisive snort issued in reply echoed throughout the atrium. "Space? Well, you sure as hell aren't giving me space now. If you wanted to help me, how about you do something about my sister who won't even acknowledge my existence? I felt like a freak in my world, and my own family has to make me feel like a freak in this one?"

"You're not a freak. Well, slayers are freaks, but in a good way … you know what, never mind."

"Don't try to have it both ways," the younger Buffy continued, "if you wanted to be my big sister and show me the ropes, you have had months to do it. You've been busy trying to win an election or having fun with your newly alive hot stud of a former demon, and meanwhile, I've lost track of how many vamps I've dusted."

Buffy's mouth opened in shock. "Hot stud of a former demon? Angel? Don't let him hear you say that."

Really. Please don't let him hear you say that. When you and I are in the same room together, he gets this vacant stare, and I really don't want to know what he's daydreaming about.

"Don't change the subject," the leather-clad Buffy said as she stepped closer. "Don't make your problems with anyone, including Spike, my problems."

"I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"You've said that before, but Spike's saved my life more than once. I'm not any safer with him having left town."

Buffy considered her next words very carefully. "Physically, maybe not, but mentally and emotionally? I've been down the road you're heading towards, and if I can spare you what I went through, I will."

The teen Buffy raised her hand in a questioning gesture as a look of sheer confusion crossed her face. "I only diverged from your life for like, what, two and a half years? What the hell happened to you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's like you don't know me at all."

Buffy could feel her own temper rising. She didn't have kids, but an image of what it must be like to raise a high schooler was coming sharply into focus. "I know you just fine. In many ways, I imagine I know you better than you know yourself."

"You had everything. Friends, a Watcher who wasn't useless, and now you get to retire! You retire, and I get all of the death and the blood and the pain."

"Pain is what I want to spare you."

"Somehow, I think all of this concern about Spike is really about you. I'm going to tell you this one more time: stay out of my life."

Buffy's temper flared quickly into focus. "Your life? You're living in my town, you're training with Giles, you're hanging out with slayers I recruited, and now you're pissed off that I might have scared off one of my ex-boyfriends? Seems like you're trying to live my life."

"That isn't fair, I didn't ask for any of this!" the younger Buffy yelled in reply. "You think I knew what was waiting for me here? I'm just trying to do the best I can, no thanks to you."

Get a grip, Buffy.

She closed her eyes for a moment, forced herself to relax, then tried to calmly route the conversation back on topic, "Look, Spike, human or vampire, what I had with him was fun, it was hot, it was a lot of things, but it wasn't healthy. He dropped into my life over and over again for decades, and yes, he was there for me in tough times, and I cared deeply about him for doing that, but it never lasted."

"All of that sounds like it happened a long, long time ago," the younger Buffy said as she folded her arms. "So what?"

"There's more." Buffy hesitated a moment, then continued, "Spike wasn't the kind of guy that took no for an answer, and I don't want you to go into anything blind. I never want you to feel that I held something back that you should know."

She watched as the teen digested the subtext of her last few comments.

"Wouldn't take no for an answer?" the suddenly vulnerable appearing teen Buffy asked in a quiet, withdrawn tone.

"That's right," Buffy replied. "If you want me to talk about it, I will."

A mixture of emotions flashed over the face of the young woman standing before her. "I mean, vampire and a slayer, isn't that's how it goes?" her younger counterpart asked. "This was before Spike had a soul?"

Buffy quickly nodded in reply. "We had our problems later, but yes, nothing like back when he was a vampire."

"So, Spike, when he was a vampire, he tried to …" the question lingered in the air.

Buffy nodded again.

. . . . . . . . .

For a moment, Giles thought the tall, black-coated figure approaching the ticket table was Angel, then he spotted the green eyes beneath an uncombed shock of red-blond hair and realized his mistake. He sat motionless as Joshua strode to the table, placed his hands on the hood of the mock Chevy decoration, and leaned forward. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Olivia turned towards Joshua and smiled. "Do you two know each other?"

"Olivia, this is Joshua Hallett," Giles said calmly. "Would you be a dear and grab me a glass of punch from inside?"

"What?" Olivia asked as she blinked in surprise at the waitressing request.

Joshua waved off Giles's words. "You don't need to find an excuse to send her away. I'm just here to see some old friends, not start a fight."

"I see," Giles said. "These old friends, do they happen to be current students at Moonridge High School?"

Joshua appeared irritated at the question, but eventually, with a grim set to his jaw, he nodded in affirmation.

"You're Robin Hallett's son," Olivia said with a gasp as she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, you poor boy, I heard all about what happened to you and your mother. I'm so sorry."

Giles placed a warning hand on Olivia's knee as Joshua swiveled a steel-eyed gaze in her direction. "You have got to be …"

Giles cut him off immediately, "Joshua, let's keep things civil. These long months, our respective factions have managed to maintain a certain degree of decorum, and I see no reason why that should change."

"The truce?" Joshua growled the question. "I won't be the one breaking it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading inside." He turned to leave, and Giles scrambled out of his chair to stand in front of him.

"This dance is for current students only," Giles informed him. "You were expelled for non-attendance, I believe, and thus you aren't eligible to enter. I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"Non-attendance?" Joshua scoffed as his eyes opened wide in disbelief. "You mean … being killed? By your vampire lackey?"

"Ex-vampire, actually," Giles corrected him.

"Are you going to get out of my way?"

"I am not," Giles said. It was surprisingly easy to keep his voice even and calm.

Maybe I'm old enough that the fear of death has lost its grip on me.

"I could make you get out of the way."

"You could," Giles agreed. "But I think you and I both know you'd probably end up killing me, and others, and Richard Wilkins wouldn't want that."

Olivia stood up, joined the two of them, and laid a hand upon their arms. "Both of you, stop this." She looked at Joshua's incredulous face. "Young man, I know that you have had a nightmare time of it, but you're a teenager. Think about what you're doing, and not just to others, but to yourself. To your soul."

Giles's gazed snapped to her in surprise. "Soul? Olivia, standing before you is a …"

"I know what he is," Olivia cut him off. "I also know what else he is. You'd see it, too, if you really looked at him." She gazed benevolently at Joshua. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Joshua ignored the question and stared at Giles. "You shouldn't have come here."

"A school event needs chaperones," Giles replied flippantly. "And you're the one who hasn't been invited."

Joshua slowly shook his head. "I mean that you shouldn't have come to Moonridge."

"We're well past that, don't you think?"

Oddly enough, a glimmer of something akin to fear crept into Joshua's eyes. "You shouldn't have stopped the Hellmouth from reopening, and you shouldn't be fighting with Richard Wilkins now."

"I suppose all of the forces for good should simply pack up and leave Moonridge? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"You should. Not that you'd believe me."

Giles decided to play along for a moment. "Let's say I'm willing to listen. Why should we leave?"

"Can't you feel it?"

"Annoyance? Yes. Quite."

"Something terrible is coming … something that will make all of this meaningless."

Olivia's hand tightened on Giles's arm.

"Human lives are not meaningless," Giles reminded him, "though you may have forgotten. Also, I rather suspect that whatever terrible fate awaits Moonridge, Richard Wilkins is behind all of it."

Joshau's expression was flinty and cold when he brushed Olivia's hand away. "I should go."

Giles tried to hide his sigh of relief. "We agree on that topic, at least"

Joshua turned to find a line of confused-looking students amassing behind him. Several called out his name, but upon seeing his face they quickly fell silent.

"You still have a choice, Joshua," Olivia called out.

The slaypire did not reply as it wove its way through the gathered students and vanished from sight.

"That is a troubled young man," Olivia said as she and Giles sat back down in their seats.

Giles smiled as he checked an I.D. card and crossed a name off the guest list. "That isn't a man," he reminded Olivia. "He's one of the most uniquely dangerous creatures to ever walk the Earth."

"He's still just a teenager."

Giles removed his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "None of them are ever 'just a teenager.'" Suddenly he recalled one of Olivia's comments to Joshua. "What did you mean about him having a soul?"

. . . . . . . . .

"I'm sorry that happened to you, I really am, and now I understand why you wanted to talk to me about Spike," the younger Buffy said. For the first time during the entire conversation, she didn't sound angry. "But I think the person you really want to warn isn't me." She paused for a long moment, then continued. "I think the person you really wish you could warn is yourself, maybe twentyish years ago."

"Maybe you're right."

The teen looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, for months I believed that it was Spike you couldn't forgive, but I was wrong. You can't forgive yourself."

"I've made a lot of mistakes."

For the first time that night, Buffy saw a smile form on the face of her counterpart. "And so will I."

Despite the tension of the moment, they both began to laugh. As the laughter echoed both in the hallways and within the depths of her soul, Buffy felt a wave crest inside her chest and wash away a burden she hadn't even realized she was carrying. "You know what, I think you're going to be just fine."

No event in Buffy's forty-ish years of life was perhaps as shocking as the hug she suddenly found herself receiving from a twin half her age. After she had processed her surprise, she reached out and returned the embrace. After a long moment, they separated, and it was almost as though they saw each other … really saw each other … for the first time.

"He was a vampire then," the younger Buffy assured the older. "Just like Angel used to be. It wasn't him, not what he is now."

"You're right," she admitted. "More importantly, it's your life, not mine."

From the floor above them, they heard the resounding echo of a slow, mocking clap.

Both of them stepped into the center of the atrium and stared up to find Spike leaning over the second-floor railing.

"I'm glad you two could work that out," he called down. "You've both made real progress today."

The two Buffys looked at each other, and the older patted the younger on the shoulder, leaned forward, and whispered into her ear, "He's all yours."

With steps appreciably lighter than those that had carried her into the school, Buffy walked back towards the gymnasium.

Hopefully Angel has turned his phone back on.

. . . . . . . . .

When Emmy pulled into the Moonridge Investigations parking lot and spotted Xander's truck and Angel's black sedan, she breathed a sigh of relief, and then fought down a wave of irritation that they were both so apparently wrapped up in work that they hadn't bothered to pick up their phones for hours. She parked next to a dented, dust-covered RV, headed towards the front door, and was mildly surprised to find it unlocked.

"Xander? Angel? Anybody here?" she called out as she stepped inside. At receiving no reply, she rapped her knuckles on the wall. "Hello? Xander?"

Nothing.

When she spotted a mug lying on the floor, her heart skipped a beat.

Something bad happened here.

Too frightened to search further, she reached into her pocket and grabbed her phone. The walls of the empty office seemed to close in on her as she hastily typed a message for Buffy. After pressing send, she jammed the phone in her pocket and began backing towards the door.

An arm snaked around her neck, pulled her close, and began to squeeze. She choked out a scream, reached up, and clawed at the strangling grip. Mid-howl, the assailant used his free hand to hold a foul-smelling rag against her nose and mouth. Instinctively she gasped for air, and a moment later her lungs began to burn from whatever chemical the cloth had been soaked in.

"I expected the cavalry to have arrived by now," a voice hissed in her ear as darkness crept along the edges of her vision. "But the hour is getting late, and I supposed I'll have to settle for you."

Emmy realized that she was hanging limply in the attacker's arms a moment before the blackness swallowed her.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy read the text from Emmy at least half a dozen times, then began calling her. Her footsteps accelerated as she rushed into the gym and searched for Giles.

Why isn't Emmy picking up?

Panic began to grip her as her eyes scanned the makeshift dance hall.

"Hey, it's the axe lady!" a teen called out from somewhere off to her side. She cringed and resisted the urge to see who had yelled.

Giles isn't in here.

She took an educated guess as to where Giles and Olivia might be, and headed towards the entrance to the gymnasium. After the fourth or fifth unanswered call to Emmy, she gave up and instinctively began searching for Willow's name in her cell's directory.

What am I doing?

Her finger hovered in the air above the phone's screen. Willow was up and about, but she shouldn't call her for this … should she? It was Xander and Angel, after all. Willow would want to know, and then, even though she was six months pregnant, she'd want to help.

I can't do that to her.

Buffy slowly slid her phone back in her pocket. If Willow knew, she'd insist, and Oz would look at all of them with those hurt, judging eyes, and Buffy decided that the most prudent course would be to wait until she knew more. After all, maybe there was an innocuous reason Emmy had texted about an emergency at Angel's office and then stopped picking up her phone.

Yeah, right.

She stepped outside and immediately spotted a line of students decked out in poodle skirts, leather jackets, and an array of 50s attire queued behind a table manned by Giles and Olivia. She approached and caught Giles's eye. He must have realized from her expression that something was amiss, as he quickly laid the clipboard down and stood up to join her.

"Hey, it's Mayor Buffy!" called out a student. Several others began whooping and hollering, and although she heard a few muttered comments that contained the word 'axe,' she forced a smile and a wave.

"Thank you for your support!" she squeaked out.

Giles moved in close. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes?" she said as she gestured him away from the crowd.

Giles whispered something to Olivia, then followed her around the corner of the building.

"Buffy, what is it?" he asked.

She was struck for a moment how similar it all felt. They were outside a high school, someone was in trouble, and here she was pulling Giles away from work to see what words of wisdom he might offer.

The more things change …

"It's Angel and Xander," she informed him. "And maybe Emmy, too."

"What's happened?"

"Emmy went over to the office, found something wrong, and texted that I should come over right away."

"Something wrong," Giles mused. "Well, that doesn't sound good, but let's not leap to conclusions. Have you tried calling her?"

Buffy quickly nodded in response. "I have, and she isn't picking up … and she specifically used the word 'emergency.'"

Giles pulled out his phone, dialed Emmy's number, and upon hearing her voicemail stared at Buffy with a grave expression. "We should head over now. I'll drive." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Have you called …" Giles's voice trailed off as a crestfallen expression flashed over his face.

He was about to ask if I'd called Willow.

"Let's leave Willow out of this." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "At least for now. I'll ring Faith, Connor, and anyone else who will pick up, and you go grab Buffy and Spike … they're in the main atrium of the school. We don't know what we're going to find, and I want all the backup we can muster."

Giles blinked a few times in surprise. "Spike? I thought he'd left town?"

Buffy pursed her lips, tilted her head, and stared at him until he sheepishly glanced away.

"I suppose I should have known better," he said in a rueful, begrudging tone. "I'll go find the two of them."

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy felt oddly light-headed as she started climbing the white-tiled, switchback stairs that led to the second floor of the school. Her thoughts seemed muddled, almost confused … as much as she hated to admit it, over the last month or two that sensation had become all the more common when dealing with Spike.

I can't believe he was listening to us, that bastard.

She had just finished navigated the first half-turn of the stairs when she realized that Spike was already descending. She froze on the landing and watched, her feet pinioned to the spot, as he approached. When he reached her, he stopped and smiled.

"Hey, you," he said.

Buffy sniffed at the air for a moment, and then looked at him accusingly. "Have you been drinking?"

"Almost constantly since yesterday afternoon," Spike admitted. "Did you want a sip?" He pulled a flask from his inner coat pocket and wiggled it at her.

"Why not," she said. She silently grabbed the flask and took a long swig. The whiskey burned hot down her throat, and she resisted the urge to cough as she handed it back. Spike replaced the cap and tucked it away.

She felt her face flush as Spike appraisingly gazed at her from head to toe. "Love the outfit. Particularly the jacket …" he reached out and felt the leather … "that's high quality."

Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, Buffy couldn't help but notice how rapidly he was breathing. For a moment, she felt the urge to reach out and lay a hand upon the fabric of his white cotton shirt, just to feel the motion of his chest. It occurred to her that Spike's white shirt, black leather overcoat, and black jeans worked perfectly fine as a 50s-appropriate attire.

She drew back her left hand and punched him solidly in the shoulder. Not enough to leave a bruise, but enough that he would feel it.

"Ouch," he said slowly and deliberately as he rubbed the impact spot. "At least you didn't flinch your left shoulder before you swung. That's an improvement."
"That's for eavesdropping," she informed him as she folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. There didn't seem to be enough space for the two of them on the landing, as Spike's form pressed in and denied her space to gather her thoughts. "And also, for not letting me know you'd changed your mind about leaving."

Spike's smile was aggravatingly insolent as he moved closer. Buffy felt a slight surge of panic when she realized that he'd casually placed himself squarely in her path. If she wanted to end the conversation, he'd have to move … or she'd have to move him. "It's nice to know you care, Buffy." He leaned a hand against the wall next to her. "Also, it's nice to know how much you care."

Spike looked over his shoulder as the patter of footsteps became audible on the tiles below. Several students, a few of whom were walking unsteadily while holding half-filled cups of punch, glanced up at them and began jeering.

"What, are you two trying to match outfits?" one bleary-eyed teen with a mop top of black curls yelled.

"Looking for some alone time?" another called out.

"PISS OFF," Spike growled as he fixed them with an angry look.

For a moment, it seemed like they might argue, but one of them … evidently smarter than his fellows … grabbed at their arms and yanked them away. Spike waited until their footfalls vanished from hearing before turning back to her.

"Do you feel better?" he asked her. "Now that you've had a chance to clear the air with yourself, so to speak."

"I guess," Buffy admitted. "She said some things I hadn't expected." It was subtle … very subtle … but Spike definitely tensed for a second at her comment.

"Does it change anything?" he asked.

"Spike," she said as her heart beat like a drum inside her chest, "how about we cut the shit?"

His teeth gleamed as his smile broadened. She likened it to a predator sizing up its next meal. Part of it unnerved her, but another part … the part that had found him interesting the first time they'd met in an alley what felt like a lifetime ago, tingled in response.

"I'd love nothing more," he replied. He placed his hand on the other wall and hemmed her into the corner. "I gave you your space, more than I think you needed, actually, but you know what I want, and I'm pretty sure I know what you want." His blue eyes gleamed as he stared at her.

"Are the two of us really a good idea?"

"Probably not," he admitted as he leaned in closer still. "This might be a mistake."

"I'm a big girl, I'll make my own mistakes," she muttered in reply. It was the same sentiment she'd uttered to the other Buffy a few minutes ago, but she felt decidedly less sure of its truth at the moment.

She could feel the warmth of Spike's breath as his lips parted to whisper to her, "I've noticed that."

"I've got a hell of a temper," she warned him as she acted on her earlier temptation and laid a hand on his shirt. The tempo of his breathing and the throb of his heart surged beneath the fabric, and each movement sent a thrilling pulse through her own core.

"I've got a temper of my own," he replied.

She craned her neck to look up at him. His blond, coiffed hair shone in the light. "I won't promise to play nice."

"Not what I'm looking for," he growled in a low, husky voice. "It would be boring if you did." Spike looked down at her hand pressing against his chest, then back at her. "Is my chest really the part of me you want to be feeling right about now?"

Never breaking eye contact, she snaked her hand lower, inch by inch, until her thumb looped into his belt and her fingers brushed against the solid bulge below. "If you hurt me, I'll hurt you back," she warned him.

"Now you're talking my language," Spike muttered as he leaned down, parted his lips, and kissed her. His mouth was hard against hers, at first, and she was uncertain and surprised, but then she felt her body warm to his touch. As his lips and tongue pressed against her own, she softened into the embrace, closed her eyes, and a sensation of crackling, sizzling energy began to shoot through her body as she returned the kiss. Spike's hands sought out the sides of her stomach, his fingers trailing sparks against her bare skin, and then he moved his lips downwards to nuzzle against her neck. His hands began to creep upwards beneath her shirt, and she moaned softly when he raised his head and kissed her again, harder and more urgently this time.

Spike's searching fingers were beginning to reach dangerous places … places that screamed for a setting more private than a stairwell, but in that moment she didn't care.

Her soul ached when Spike pulled away for a moment, and his blues eyes were piercingly beautiful as he gazed down at her. "Are you sure about this," he said softly as pulled a hand free and lightly ran a finger along her jaw.

"Absolutely," she replied as she grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. "But where?"

"One of the classrooms up here has a couch," Spike whispered in her ear. "Looks pretty comfy."

"Perfect," she purred in reply. "You and I have some catching up to do … I wish you'd been like this before."

"Before when?" Spike asked with a quizzical expression as the hand still under her shirt softly caressed the underside of one of her breasts.

She quivered at the touch. "When we first met."

"You would have staked me," Spike said with a laugh.

"Bullshit!" she exclaimed with a giggle. "Well, possibly at first."

"Maybe I wanted to try something new and take things slow," Spike mused as he kissed her again, even longer this time. "Should I ask you to dance?"

Buffy came to the immediate conclusion that there were far too many articles of clothing getting in their way.

"Dancing isn't really my thing," she murmured. "Couch. Now."

The sound of Giles clearing his throat at the bottom of the stairs ricocheted through her brain like a gunshot. She immediately scrambled away from Spike, hastily pulled down her shirt, and instinctively wiped a hand across her lips.

"Giles," she said in a decidedly unhappy tone of voice. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Evidently," Giles said as he studiously attempted to look in any direction but towards them.

"Who's in trouble?" Spike asked.

Buffy looked at Spike in surprise, then turned back to Giles. "Is someone in trouble?"

Giles peeked out of the corner of his eye, and upon seeing that Spike and Buffy had moved a meaningful amount of distance apart, he gazed up at them. "Yes. Angel, Xander, and maybe Emmy, have gone missing, and we do not think it is a coincidence."

"Well," Spike said, "their timing could not possibly have been worse."

Drat.

. . . . . . . . .

Giles, with a kiss and a brief explanation, left Olivia to tend to the increasingly raucous line of waiting students, and with two Buffys and Spike in tow walked between the rows of cars towards the spot where he had parked his Jaguar.

"Tell me again why you don't think this is Richard Wilkins making his move?" the older Buffy asked. "Maybe we've been taking for granted that he'd honor the truce until the election?"

"Trust me, Buffy," Giles replied, "it isn't Wilkins. About a half an hour ago, I ran into …" Giles halted mid-step, keys in hand, and his mouth opened in horror.

"I assume you didn't leave it like that," Spike observed as the four of them stared at Giles's overturned car.

"My Jaguar …" Giles said in a mournful, bereaved tone.

"Want us to flip it back over?" the younger Buffy asked as she surveyed the damage. "What would be the point," Spike asked. "The roof's all caved-in and the windows are

broken." He pointed at the damage. "You couldn't drive that. Not safely anyway." He rapped against one of the sides. "Probably cost more to fix this thing than it's worth."

Giles slowly rotated his head to look at Spike. "Thank you, Spike. I appreciate the information."

Spike mock saluted Giles and pulled his own car keys out of a jacket pocket. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but I can drive us all."

Both Buffys looked at each other skeptically while Giles appeared to be suddenly afflicted with an upset stomach.

"I guess …" the older Buffy said.

"I'm not sure we have another choice," Giles admitted as he realized nobody was particularly eager to share a car ride together.

"Who did this?" the younger Buffy asked.

"Joshua," Giles replied. "That's the major reason I'm convinced Xander and Angel's disappearance is the work of someone other than Richard Wilkins. If he was making his move, Joshua would have been here to murder us, not vandalize my car."

"It's got to be this serial killer bloke, right?" Spike observed as he began walking towards his Dodge. "Nobody wants to say it out loud, but he's been after Angel for what, months now? Seems to me like Xander and Emmy might be … what's the term I'm looking for?"

"Collateral damage," Giles replied somberly.

"Could you have flipped that car over?" the younger Buffy asked the older. "Back when you were a slayer, I mean?"

"Maybe with a crane."

. . . . . . . . .

"I haven't seen one of these in a long time," Connor announced as he tapped an Angel Investigations business card taped to the wall.

"Me neither," Buffy admitted as she emerged from Angel's office. "Other than the mug on the floor, the unlocked door, and all the lights being on, I'm not seeing very much in the ways of clues." A gnawing fear had begun to clutch at her. "We need some ideas, and we need them now."

"It's Angel, Xander, and Emmy … we need to pull out all the stops," Connor said. "Giles, if you're saying magic can't help us find whoever took them, maybe we need to call the Watchers, or Willow, or someone."

"Connor's right, B," Faith said as she looked around. "Angel has done this investigative crap for longer than we've been alive, and he couldn't figure out who the killer was. The clock is ticking, and we're running out of options."

"The Council isn't going to help," Dana said flatly. "Not with the way things stand."

"Maybe you should call them anyway, Buffy," Colleen suggested. "Just tell them that you're ready to talk?"

I may not have a choice.

"I still can't figure out why, with a serial killer on the loose, you guys are just wandering around without precautions?" Jess asked while she continued to stand nonchalantly near the lobby door.

"Because the wards I put around this office a few months ago should have stopped any demon just short of an Old One," Giles replied in a frosty, impatient, tone. "And, Jess, if you're not going to have anything useful to offer, maybe it would be best if you …"

Mid-sentence, they were all surprised by the sound of the door swinging open and the ensuing sight of a middle-aged blonde woman wearing jeans and a long sleeved, gray turtleneck stepping inside.

"Oh goodie," Spike said, "a cop."

Kate looked around at the assembled group with a neutral, unreadable expression.

Faith sidled behind the lobby desk and quickly sat down. Buffy had the distinct impression that she was attempting to hide her face from the newcomer.

"Thank you for coming, Kate," Buffy replied. "I know you're still on leave, but I didn't know who else I could call."

"Kate Lockley?" the younger Buffy asked. "Angel's ex …" her voice trailed off as every eye in the room swiveled towards her. "Angel's friend," she finished.

"Have none of you people ever heard of preserving evidence?" Kate asked in an oddly rough, hoarse voice as she studiously examined the room. "Anything useful that might have been left behind has probably been trampled into dust by now."

"Evidence?" Connor replied in a voice that was steadily growing shrill with frustration and anxiety. "It's a demon, so I still think we should be trying to use a locater spell, or something."

Kate ignored the comment and began carefully walking around the room.

Dana fixed the older Buffy with a steely, unhappy expression. "You should have consulted us before you brought in a civilian. Maybe all of you," she gestured around the room, "are fine with folks knowing who you are and what you do, but not all of us feel that way."

"Oh, come off it," Kate snapped as she narrowed her eyes and glanced upwards at a ceiling tile in the far hallway. "I've been dusting vampires and fighting demons longer than any of you, and if you think I haven't kept tabs on your summer in Moonridge, you're mistaken."

Dana's eyes widened in shock at being spoken too so brusquely, while Giles and Buffy shared a grin.

Meanwhile, Kate had procured an office chair and was dragging it into position in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Colleen asked.

Kate stood up on the chair, removed her cell phone from her pocket, and used it to gently prod at a ceiling tile. "This tile has been moved recently, and I want to know why."

"How do you know?" the younger Buffy asked.

"I feel like I'm in CSI Moonridge," Spike muttered.

Kate continued poking at the tile as she replied, "this office was recently renovated, and all the tiles are fresh and new, but this one has a corner broken off. I'm guessing that someone wanted to …"

Mid-sentence, the ceiling tile gave way, and amidst the crumbling debris that rained to the ground, a metal container, similar in appearance to a scuba tank, fell amidst a tangle of wires and electronics.

"Well, how about that," Spike said softly. "The bloody copper found something."

Everyone stared in silence as Kate knelt and began poking at the tank and wiring attachments.

"Kate," Buffy said in a voice she hoped was somewhat calm, "what is that?"

"The chemical's name is unpronounceable," Kate replied as she knelt and stared at the bottom of the tank, "but a couple whiffs of this stuff would knock out an elephant." She turned on her phone's flashlight and inspected the tank more closely. "This contraption looks like it's activated remotely … I'm guessing the same asshole that nearly killed me waited in the parking lot and triggered the gas when Angel and Xander were in the right spot."

"Nearly killed you?" Colleen asked. "What happened?"

Kate pulled down her turtleneck to display a still prominent purple bruise that wrapped around her throat.

A chorus of sympathetic comments echoed throughout the office.

"At least Angel, Xander, and Emmy aren't dead," Buffy announced with more conviction than she actually felt. "The killer wouldn't have bothered to knock them out if he was going to kill them immediately, right?"

"I don't know if I'd want to bet on that, Buffy," Connor said.

"They're alive," the younger Buffy said comfortingly to the older. "I think we'd know it if they weren't."

"Detective, is there anything we might be able to learn from any of that equipment?" Giles asked. "Some lead that could tell us where to start looking?"

Kate flicked off her flashlight and stood up. "You mean like the name and address of the business where the tank came from? Something like that?"

"Well," Giles equivocated, "maybe that's too much to hope for, but perhaps there's something to go on?"

"I think you misunderstood me." Kate held up her phone and displayed the photo she'd taken of the bottom of the tank. "I'm saying that the name and address of the business is printed on the bottom of the tank … any of you guys know where this place is?"

"Detective Owl Creek knows her stuff," Spike said.

Kate narrowed her eyes in irritation at Spike's impromptu nickname.

Everyone moved in closer to survey the address.

"That's no more than twenty minutes from here," Buffy announced. "Near Old Town. I think it's a warehouse."

Faith glanced about. "Well? What are we waiting for?"